Dingle Sojourns

The Dingle countryside is fascinating. On one hand it's full of natural beauty...soaring ocean cliffs, rugged hills, pristine beaches. On the other, there's history everywhere. This is Kilmakeder church, built in the 12th century. Blow up the pic and you can see rather intricate artwork in the doorway. The site was used for worship long before the church was built...there are relics, including a sundial and a cross, on the site that are several centuries older.

Though the church is a ruin, the adjacent cemetery is still being used, intensively in fact...many graves are new. Some are inscribed in Irish, which is spoken routinely by many of the inhabitants in this area. They all speak English too, but roam around Dingle and you'll hear people conversing in Irish. To an English speaker, it's an exotic language...unlike French, Spanish, and German, few words are like their English counterparts. And the pronunciation is baffling. For example, the Prime Minister of Ireland, Enda Kenny, is known as the Taoiseach. This is pronounced tee-shock. Go figure.

One day I parked my car at Brandon Point, and hiked far above it to a stone cairn, perhaps a grave or memorial dating from the distant past. I met a man relaxing there, perhaps a decade older than me but in better shape. Turns out he works for an NGO and was just home from Sudan...what a change! Lots of turmoil there...his jeep was shot at one day. He's a local resident and comes to this spot for a tranquility fix. Different world from Sudan. We talked about Africa, and Obama, and some of his favorite spots nearby. He was into the spirituality of the land, of the people that had gone before him, and in this place, I understood perfectly. Kind of a mystical experience.

The islets you see offshore are some of the Seven Hogs, like my neighborhood pub in Castlegregory.

My acquaintance told me about Cahir Conree, an Iron Age fort inhabited, legend has it, by the high king of Munster over two thousand years ago. He suggested I hike up to it. Well, it's a long way up. I'm maybe two thirds of the way up there, and if you blow up this pic and look just above the center, you may be able to see my car...a loooong way down.

Alas, I didn't make it to the fort. As near as I can tell, it's on the top of the peak to the left...I made it to the little saddle on the ridge just right of center. Not only was the latter part of that trek hellaciously steep, but much of the trail was pure Russian Front...massive quagmires of mud. But, the country was vast and beautiful and it was a great workout. Slid on my butt a couple times on the way down and got wet and muddy, but fortunately the rental house had a very efficient washer and dryer so my wardrobe made a complete recovery.